Life is What you Make of It
by crimson11petrichor
Summary: Sally likes old things, does she? The Doctor knows just where to take her-19th century Vienna! But something's wrong...Beethoven can hear again...


Third-person POV of Sally Sparrow alongside the 10th Doctor. Sequel to Sad is Happy for Deep People.

Series:  
1 - One Day as a Lion: /OYKmlo  
2 - Sad is Happy for Deep People: /OYKjpG  
3 - **Life is What you Make of It**

* * *

The TARDIS came to a grinding halt and the Doctor turned to Sally, who was hanging onto the console for dear life. "Where are we?" She asked him, breathless.

"Well," the Doctor began as he sauntered toward her, hands stuffed in his pockets, "it ought to be somewhere around...Vienna, perhaps a day or two before May 7th, 1824..."

Sally racked her brain for a few moments before she recognized the date. Beethoven's ninth... Her head spun. "You don't mean..."

"Oh yes," he said with a sideways glance and an exuberant grin, "I'm taking you to a concert!"

Sally emitted a high-pitched noise, effectively expressing her excitement, and threw her arms around the Doctor. He returned her embrace before opening the TARDIS door onto the bustling street. They stepped outside and Sally stood in awe of her surroundings. Men and women crowded a small market in clothes decorated with lace and ruffles. The rooftops shone and puddles remained from a morning rainfall.

"Now," said the Doctor, holding out a key, "this is the key to the TARDIS. I give this to whoever's traveling with me, but I've only got one, so don't lose it! And, try not to wander too far," he said, exasperated. Sally stifled a giggle as he continued. "That's rule number one, no wandering off! You never know what might be lurking around, and it's easier to help you if I know where you are!"

The Doctor gave her a skeptical, sideways glance, and Sally nodded at him. "I understand," she told him, trying to match his serious look to her own—it backfired, and he ended up grinning widely despite himself.

"Right, go on then," he urged her. She began to walk away when he stopped her. "Wait, your phone," he said. She took it out of her pocket and held it out to him, puzzled. He turned it on—to her astonishment, when she looked, she found it still had a signal. "When I was fixing the GPS on this, I also made it so you can use it to call home from any time, and any place, in the universe, as if you'd only just left. In case, you know, you need to tell someone to feed Charlie, or whatever other responsibilities you might need taken care of for you." A lead weight landed in Sally's stomach as she remembered Larry. I should call him, she thought. "Okay," she said, trying to smile. She opened her recently called list as the Doctor walked away—at the top, Bea and Larry. She deliberated for a moment before choosing Bea. I can call him later...

. . .

Sally was weaving her way happily through the market when the Doctor found her again, about twenty minutes later.

"C'mon, I've got a surprise for you!" He said as he took her hand, grinning. They wove back through the crowds, down the cobblestone streets, until they reached a large, white house with five windows and a big wooden door. Piano music was filtering through a window on the upper level, and the Doctor dropped Sally's hand to utilize the brass knocker on the entrance.

A woman answered. "Yes?"

"'Allo!" The Doctor cried, brandishing his psychic paper. "I'm the Doctor, and this is Sally. We're here to see Mr Beethoven."

The woman rolled her eyes. "I'll show you to his room, but I can't guarantee the welcome you'll receive." She began to ascend the stairs. "He's got a performance tomorrow, that always makes him a bit, you know..." she looked back at her followers, "more eccentric than usual. But he's been asking for a doctor for a few days now. Never seems satisfied with the ones that come; maybe you can help him."

The music was now near-deafening. The woman knocked loudly on the door before opening it to reveal its contents—a piano; stacks upon stacks of musical scores; and a man with mad hair sitting, mid-measure, at the keyboard. "ANOTHER DOCTOR!" The woman shouted at him.

He nodded at her, and she left the room. Sally stared in bewilderment. This was the Ludwig Van Beethoven! In the same room as her! She could barely contain her excitement!

Meanwhile, the Doctor approached the man at the piano. "'Allo, I'm the Doctor, and this is Sally—" he gestured to Sally, who gave a feeble wave. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm glad someone has finally taken me seriously!" Beethoven sputtered. "Doctor, my hearing has returned."

The Doctor looked puzzled. "You don't say?" He approached Beethoven and examined the composer's ears with the sonic screwdriver. He flipped out the top to analyze the readings. "Hmm, your ears don't appear to be in any better shape..."

"Everyone's telling me I should just be happy that I have it back, but if you ask me, that's lunacy." He shook his head. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth? Well, that's fine until it turns out it's rabid!"

"Yes..." the Doctor agreed, still appearing confused. "When did you notice this?"

"A few days ago, all at once, actually," he told them. "I woke up to the sound of birds—I thought I must have died! But three days later, everything carries on as normal. I should hope heaven would be marred with less drudgery..."

Sally smirked a little. Grumpy old men are the same in every century.

The Doctor nodded. "So, you just woke up, nothing happened out of the ordinary the day before?"

"No, nothing," the composer agreed.

"And who have you told?"

Beethoven waved his hand dismissively, "A few close friends. I asked them to arrange some doctors' appointments for me—I have a very important event to prepare for, and I don't have enough time as it is. A handfull of doctors have seen me; a few more dismissed my concern, citing miracles, telling me to be glad..." the old man scoffed. "Tell me! How could anyone be happy when they can't understand what's happening to them?"

The Doctor nodded. "Indeed." He ran a thoughtful hand over his chin. "Do you think you could sign your name on a sheet of scrap paper for me?"

Beethoven looked perplexed. "What?"

"Have you heard of graphology?" The Doctor asked. "Study of handwriting. Your handwriting can be analyzed and it's sometimes useful in diagnosing neurological conditions. Been around a few hundred years now!"

The composer still seemed skeptical, but began rummaging around in his piles of parchment, eventually producing a piece he deemed unimportant, and signing his name.

"Brilliant!" The Doctor exclaimed, accepting the parchment. "Now, we'll just go and see what we can make of this. We'll be back in a few hours, alright?"

"Certainly. Thank you, Doctor," Beethoven stood and bowed; the Doctor bowed in return, and Sally offered an awkward curtsey, before they both turned to leave.

When they reached the street, the Doctor handed the scrap of parchment to Sally. "Here, this is for you."

Sally looked at the paper, puzzled. "But, I don't know graphology..."

"Ehh, that was just a ruse..." the Doctor admitted, meanwhile examining the windowsills of the house. "Got us out of his house, and got you a one-of-a-kind autographed bit of some discarded sonata!" He grinned broadly at her. Sally's eyes widened and she laughed out loud. "Pretty good, eh?" The Doctor appeared to be basking in her joy.

She didn't mind.

The Doctor's demeanor sobered again. "Now," he began, scanning the outside of the first-storey window, "there's no reasonable explanation as to why a deaf man's hearing might return. His autopsy years from now reveals lesions on his eardrums—those lesions are still there now. So we're probably looking at alien involvement. Maybe low-level telepathy?" He moved to the next window. "It only grabs outside noise...so that's odd...it's got to be nearby if he's hearing just what's around him..." Finding nothing, he held the sonic screwdriver at arm's length toward Beethoven's window; some bats took flight from the eaves, and they heard Beethoven let out a yelp of pain. Sally watched the bats fly, inexplicably, down a grate in the street and into the sewer. Odd, thought Sally, wouldn't they normally fly up?

The Doctor rushed to open the door of the house and was already halfway up the stairs before Sally turned around; she hurried to catch up.

"Mr Beethoven," the Doctor cried as he rushed to the composer's side, "are you alright?"

"I felt a stabbing pain in my ear," he reported, holding his head.

"But you can still hear?" The Doctor asked him.

"Yes...less clearly now, but yes..."

The Doctor began scanning the walls in the room, but found nothing. Sally sat at the composer's side. "Do you hear anything differently?"

"I hear a fuzzy sound, like running water," he told her.

"Static," the Doctor stated, continuing his scan.

"Or a sewer," Sally offered. The Doctor looked at her, surprised, and she walked over to him before continuing in a lowered tone. "Those bats took off when you scanned the building from the outside. Now, the sonic screwdriver wouldn't hurt Beethoven's ear, wouldn't even hurt a normal, functioning ear, but a bat ear is much more sensitive. And if he's receiving telepathy from another creature, whatever hurt that creature might also hurt him."

The Doctor's eyes lit up. "You never cease to amaze me, Sally Sparrow!" Sally beamed as he strode to the window. "Now, we should hurry to find them—by dusk they'll probably be coming out to feed, if they're anything like normal bats. Hopefully we can speak to them. Mr Beethoven," he said, turning to the composer, "it'll be a dirty endeavor, but I think we'll need your help finding them."

Beethoven nodded. "I'll be glad to get to the bottom of this," he told the Doctor.

"Right, I'll be right back," he told them, rushing down the stairs and into the street, headed for the TARDIS.

. . .

The Doctor returned shortly with three sets of heavy-duty coveralls—dark green hip waders, to be precise. The trio donned the out-of-date garments and ventured out into the street. It was supper time by the time they began their descent, but those who were watching were in for a treat—mad old Beethoven and his strange companions soon jumped into the sewers. The Doctor went first, then Beethoven, and bringing up the rear was Sally.

"Alright, Mr Beethoven?" Asked the Doctor.

"In a relative sense..." Beethoven answered with distaste.

"Alright, Sally?"

Sally sputtered. "I'm wading through the sewers of Vienna, with Beethoven!" Sally answered, enthralled. "How cool is that!?"

Beethoven made a disapproving noise. "I'm right here, young lady! And I should think I've been rather warm considering the circumstances!"

"Different dialect, Mr Beethoven," the Doctor cut in. "'Cool' means 'good.'"

Beethoven paused in his tirade. "Oh...well, good!"

"Now," the Doctor continued, "I'm going to make a noise in each direction, Mr Beethoven, and I need you to tell me which one is louder to you." Beethoven nodded, and the Doctor activated his screwdriver once in each direction.

"That way," Beethoven indicated the tunnel going north.

"Alright," the Doctor said triumphantly, tossing Sally a piece of chalk. "Mark the direction we come, if you please, Sally?" Sally nodded, and with that, they ventured forth.

As they wove their way through the tunnels of Vienna's underbelly, Beethoven began to grow impatient. "Now, really," he began, "we've been traveling quite some time. What are we looking for!?"

As if in answer to his question, the tunnel opened up. The Wein River rushed before them, and above it roosted hundreds of bat-like creatures, all tittering away. "Ah, perfect timing!" The Doctor exclaimed as Beethoven and Sally gaped.

"Doctor," Sally whispered to him, "why isn't the TARDIS translating them?"

The Doctor listened for a moment before answering. "I don't think they're talking," he told her, looking inquisitively at the host of creatures above them. "I think they're looking..."

Sally's jaw dropped. "Of course! Echolocation!"

"Uh-huh," the Doctor agreed, running his fingers through his hair in thought. "Looking at us, if I'm not much mistaken..."

Sally's stomach turned remembering the Graskes. I hope this goes better than that encounter...

The Doctor appeared to be right—they witnessed two of the beings fly over to them. They hung upside down on the wall next to the party. They looked like fruit bats, with brown fur covering their entire bodies, but much larger—six or so feet tall. Their intelligent faces looked toward their guests, but in the dim light, they continued their echolocation in order to 'see' the visitors.

You should not be here. Their voices resonated in Sally's mind. She had little time to be shocked before the Doctor answered them.

"Yeah, terribly sorry. We were just trying to track down the cause of something odd happening to our friend..." he motioned to Beethoven, who waved timidly.

Please tell your companions to quiet their minds, they are chattering very loudly. The bat-people seemed annoyed.

The Doctor made an impatient shushing movement toward them. Sally tried to calm her racing thoughts. The composer appeared to do the same.

"Better?" He asked their hosts.

It will do, they answered.

The Doctor nodded. "Now, Mr Beethoven was formerly deaf, but recently, his hearing has returned, and our best guess is it has something to do with you. Can you give us any insight?"

The creatures nodded. Our leader is coming to converse with you, they intimated.

"Ah, excellent!" The Doctor said happily, as a much larger bat-person flew over. The first two made room for the third, and it lit upon the same perch the others were clinging to.

Welcome, Doctor, a new voice rung in their heads. And Sally, and our esteemed Mr Ludwig Van Beethoven! Sally looked to Beethoven, and saw that he was as shocked as she was, before trying once again to calm her mind. The creature seemed to smile at them both, and continued. We are the Bessonites. Almost 700 years ago, our planet was the subject of a genocide at the hands of the Krillitanes. He nodded quickly to the Doctor, I see you know that part of our story already. The Doctor nodded, and their host continued. We have been traveling as nomads ever since, fearing the retribution of the Krillitanes should they ever find us, but this great man's music has echoed through time and space. We have followed it all this time, and as we happened upon the source, we stopped. We wish to stay long enough to hear this masterpiece—as we are to understand, it will be performed tomorrow. We connected to Mr Beethoven psychically out of pure selfishness—we wanted to experience every possible part of this moment in time, and we are deeply sorry for any distress or inconvenience we may have caused.

The Doctor moved to speak, but Beethoven cut him off. "You honour me," he told the Bessonite leader, hand over his heart and voice filled with emotion. "Not only have you given me the great gift of returning my hearing, but the things you said about my work..." he faltered, "words simply cannot express."

The Bessanite leader radiated joy. We have no need for words. We feel what you feel, and it tells us that our trip here was not wasted. However, the joy abated, we cannot stay. We must continue through space, fleeing our enemies, and when we leave, so too will your hearing.

Beethoven shook his head. "Even for a short time, this is the most precious gift I could ever receive. Thank you!"

The Bessanite leader smiled. Now, do you recall how to return?

"I marked the way," Sally told them.

Good! If we are fortunate, perhaps our paths shall cross again. With a final nod, the Bessanites returned to their roosts.

Sally, beaming madly, began retracing their route.

. . .

Back in the TARDIS, smelling positively awful, the Doctor looked at Sally with wide eyes and a grin to match. "That was good, wasn't it!?"

Sally nodded enthusiastically. "The BEST!"

The Doctor opened something that looked like a laundry chute from the wall of the TARDIS, and they disposed of their hip-waders. "Now, we've got a big day tomorrow, so rest up!" He told her. "I'll be working in here if you need me...after a shower, that is..." He made a face and Sally giggled.

"Alright, good night," Sally chirped as she walked through the control room toward her room. As she wove down the corridors of the TARDIS, she pored over their adventure in her head. The Bessanites seemed like such a peaceful people. She was sad that they had no home, but they themselves seemed in high spirits. Life is what you make of it, I guess.

She reached her room and, resisting the temptation of her soft, warm bed, grabbed her towel and entered her en suite bathroom. As she turned on the shower, she could faintly hear ratchets and power tools sounding from the control room. Does he ever sleep? She wondered before stepping inside to wash away the day's grime.

When she had finished, she briefly considered returning to the control room to keep the Doctor company. She sat down on the edge of her bed, clad in a white bathrobe, and began to dry her hair. The bed felt impossibly soft, and she realized how exhausted she was. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

. . .

The next day, upon visiting Beethoven for breakfast, they learned that their Bessanite friends had sent an emissary of sorts—a very young Bessanite, small enough to be carried unnoticed, so that Beethoven could make the most of his last day as a hearing man.

Beethoven appeared overjoyed, and chattered through their meal like a schoolboy with a new toy. Sally listened intently to his stories—of his childhood, his instruction, his meeting with Mozart; she was utterly transfixed by his narrative.

When they had finished breakfast, they took a tour of Vienna. Beethoven showed them his favourite haunts, landmarks, and remarkable little corners of the city that they couldn't have hoped to find on their own.

It seemed like no time at all before they had to part ways—he to organize his recital, and they to get ready for the evening. The Doctor found, in the back of his wardrobe, some period costumes from the 19th century. He and Sally donned them for the performance.

They took their seats in the auditorium, and not long after, Beethoven walked onstage—alone, which differed from Sally's remembrance of the original anecdote. "This isn't how it happened," she said to the Doctor, mildly alarmed. "There's supposed to be a second conductor."

"Yeah," the Doctor answered, smiling. "I think the reason this music resonated through time and space was...kind of backwards through the wake of the TARDIS. Now, some things we can't change—we mustn't. But this? This isn't a fixed point in time." He sat back in his chair, beaming. "We can let him have this."

Sally's face broke into a broad grin, and the symphony began.

. . .

"That was brilliant!" Sally cried, rushing up to Beethoven, whose eyes were still wet with tears of joy.

"That was the most amazing thing I shall ever witness," he told her. "If I should live to be a hundred, I shall never forget this night. To hear my symphony played, in such perfection, and then the crowd!" He held his face in his hands, overcome with emotion.

Sally draped an arm across his shoulder and squeezed, smiling. "It was amazing!"

The Doctor shook his head. "He can't hear you," he told her sadly. "The Bessanites are gone." Sally's joy turned to sorrow and she looked sadly at the old man weeping in her arms. She felt the Doctor's warm hand wipe a rebellious tear from her cheek. "Don't be sad," he told her, smiling. "He's not."

He was right. Beethoven wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, smiled joyfully at them both, and shook each of their hands in turn.

"Thank you," he said. "This could not have happened but for the two of you."

"It was our pleasure," the Doctor replied, carefully enunciating so the composer could read his lips. Beethoven beamed, then left to join his throngs of admirers.

The Doctor gave Sally's hand a comforting squeeze, and they made their way out of the auditorium and through the moonlit Vienna streets, back to the TARDIS.


End file.
